


Winter

by ericaismeg



Series: 30 Days of Writing [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 30 Days of Writing, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Everyone Is Alive, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Nogitsune, post show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 02:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1572728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ericaismeg/pseuds/ericaismeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day before Stiles left for college, he and Derek got into a huge fight over something stupid.</p>
<p>Now he's back for winter break, and he just wants his friend back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to attempt this [writing challenge.](http://foxerica.tumblr.com/post/84097258077/felicitygs-spontaneousfangasm)
> 
> Day Eight.
> 
> The word of the day is: winter.

           

            It’s not the first place that Stiles visits when he drives back into Beacon Hills, but it’s definitely not the last. He runs a hand through his hair, and takes a deep breath. That’s when he gets out of his Jeep and shuts the door behind him. The loft had almost become a home to him, but at the last second, it’d been taken away from him in a fit of fury.

            Stiles pulls out his cell phone. **2:34PM.** Well, it might as well be considered a miracle that he’s stayed away this long. He slips it back into his pocket and takes the first step. When he enters the building, he realizes his heart is pounding _far too loudly_. If the werewolf hadn’t smelled him, hadn’t sensed him immediately, he couldn’t avoid hearing the panic starting to rise up in Stiles.

            He climbs up the stairs, trying to get a grip on himself. He has to show Derek Hale that he isn’t afraid of him. Stiles remembers when he’d been getting to know Derek. The werewolf had freaked him out at first, but Stiles remembers how they’d constantly leaned on each other, consistently saved each other, and learned about each other.

            Derek and he hadn’t ended on good terms, by any means, but this…this time Stiles isn’t giving up so easily.

            He doesn’t bother knocking on the loft door. Derek’s already unlocked it for him. Stiles shuts the door behind him and inhales sharply. The place looks…it looks _bad_. Derek clearly had given up on life in general.

            Stiles is surprised that Peter hadn't come around to kick his ass back into shape. There are pieces of paper all over the living room, different newspapers, articles, and Post-It Notes that aren’t posted to anything. Stiles can see the piles of garbage. There are coffee mugs scattered around too, most of them beside brown bags. Had Derek been eating junk food for the past four months?

            He glances over to the kitchen, and winces. Oh man, Derek _had_ given up on cooking himself a decent meal. He clearly hadn’t done his dishes in at least two months, run out of clean dishes, and relied on the four delivery restaurants in Beacon Hills after that.

            The next thing that Stiles notices is Derek’s bed. Not only is it not made, but there are feathers _everywhere_. As if Derek had ripped open a bunch of the pillows Stiles had bought him for Christmas last year…and then Stiles sees the material on the floor. What an asshole.

            Derek must have unlocked the door for him. He must have been here. With the threat of new hunters in the area that Scott had been telling Stiles about, there’s no way he’d leave himself that vulnerable. Then again, he's not sure why anyone would want to attack someone living in this mess. It's pathetic.

            Stiles wonders if Derek’s upstairs, and debates on heading up to see. However, the mess is _gross_. There are empty beer bottles, he notices now. Walking over to the coffee table, he picks up a small container. Opening it, he sees wolfsbane in it. Goddammit, Derek had turned into a drunk.

            He starts piling the papers together, resisting reading what they’re about. He doesn’t _care_. He just wants to tidy up a bit. When he makes three neat stacks on the coffee table, he grabs the empty alcohol bottles. There’s even a wine bottle. Since when does Derek drink wine?

            Stiles then bends down and picks up the wolfsbane container. He walks over to the kitchen sink, and has to move a bunch of dirty dishes to get to the tap. He washes it out, and frowns. Derek’s an idiot, letting himself get this bad.

            What did he even have to be upset about? _He_ ’s the one who pushed Stiles away. _He_ ’s the one who said they were never friends to begin with. Then again, maybe that’s why he was upset. He wonders if Derek regrets any of it, and knows he must. No normal person would punish themselves by living in a pig-sty like this. Then again, Derek’s not exactly normal is he?

            Stiles starts stacking the dishes neatly so he can wash them. As he runs out of room to place the newly cleaned dishes, he finds an old (but thankfully clean) dishrag and starts to dry them.

            Slowly, all of the dishes go back to their rightful places. He continues to go back and forth between washing and drying, until he’s finished. Then he wipes down the counters. They’re disgusting. He has to scrub with as much force as he can manage on a couple spots.

            Eventually, that too is cleaned and spotless.

            He almost forgets that Derek’s the reason he’s here, and that Derek _isn’t_ here. He feels as though he’s back in his safe place, that a missing piece of him that had left him unsettled is now back in place and he’s almost whole.

            Derek’s absence is the only thing that’s obvious now. He finds a few empty coffee cups from the local coffee shop, and throws those out too.

            When the mess is tidy, he finds the mop and bucket he’d bought for Derek a few years ago and starts mopping. The floor looks much better as Stiles curls up on the musty-smelling sofa.

            He’s exhausted now.

            His cell phone reads **5:46PM**.

            Stiles is just going to close his eyes. Just for a minute.

 

♚♞♚♞♚♞

 

            “Stiles?” a soft voice comes. Someone pokes him. He waves them off. He’d been _sleeping_. Who wakes someone up while they’re _sleeping_? Especially on winter break. The fingers poke him again, this time harder. He slaps at the hand.

            “Away,” Stiles mumbles.

            “Stiles?” the voice comes again. And so do the damn fingers poking his shoulder. His eyes flash open, annoyed, only to see the face of Derek Hale. How had he not registered his voice? His brain goes into overload, as he jumps forward to wrap his arms around Derek’s neck. He vaguely recalls that Derek had looked worried, seriously worried, but he doesn’t care.

            He nuzzles into the crook of Derek’s neck and breathes him in. This is one of the only times he regrets not taking the bite from Peter. He could have had super-wolfy senses and been able to _really_ soak in the homey scent of Derek.

            “Stiles,” Derek says, his voice torn into two emotions: confusion and pleasure.

            Stiles sighs, and tugs on Derek to pull him onto the couch with him. He settles down beside him and Stiles sits up with a yawn. “Derek.”

            “Stiles, what are you doing here?” Derek asks.

            Stiles’ lips tug to one corner, pressed tight together, and he shrugs. Derek continues to look at him, with his worried expression. It would be cute, if it isn’t making Stiles a little uneasy. He settles with the question, “Did you _really_ think I would come home and not visit you?”

            “I…yeah. You didn’t come visit over Thanksgiving,” Derek says, frowning. “Scott said the whole pack was home.”

            Stiles’ eyebrows draw together. “Uh, Scott must have meant the whole pack that _was_ planning on coming home, because _I_ didn’t come home.”

            “What?” Derek looks as confused as Stiles’ feels. “But he said…he said the whole pack was home. We had a dinner together, and he said you were having dinner with your dad…I thought…”

            “My dad visited me at school,” Stiles explains quietly. “I had a paper due the Tuesday, so my dad came up for a night. But dude, why _wouldn’t_ I visit you?”

            Derek shrugs. “It’s just the last time we saw each other…”

            “Yeah,” Stiles says in understanding. The last time they’d seen each other it hadn’t been pretty. He reaches forward, and lets his hand land on Derek’s thigh. The wolf looks up at him, and Stiles just says, “Yeah.”

            “I was…” Derek trails off.

            “I know,” Stiles answers. Derek hadn’t been himself lately. It’s evident by the way he’d kept his apartment.

            “And then,” Derek starts but doesn’t finish.

            “I know,” Stiles repeats.

            “Stiles—” There’s a pause and then Derek asks in disbelief, “ _Did you clean my place_?”

            “Dude, I got here around two-thirty. What else was I supposed to do? There was nowhere to sit without feeling gross,” Stiles says. There’s a hint of laughter in his voice, and Derek jerks around to look in the kitchen.

            “My dishes, Stiles, you did my dishes!”

            “You’re welcome, dude,” Stiles says, easily.

            “ _No_ , Stiles, how could you?” Derek glares at him. “I haven’t touched those in a month and a half!”

            Stiles’ guess had been close then. “I noticed. Calm down. It’s not a big deal.”

            “But…it is,” Derek says. He’s pouting now. “After how I treated you…you shouldn’t have…”

            “Well I did, so now what?” Stiles asks, raising his eyebrows. “Are you going to yell at me? Use your werewolf eyes to freak me out? Draw your claws? Kick me out of your life again? You’ve already _done_ that Derek, and I’m still here.”

            Derek nods. “Stiles, about that…”

            “Don’t,” Stiles says simply. He squeezes Derek’s thigh. “Don’t, Derek.”

            “Don’t what? Apologize?” Derek demands. “Stiles, _I_ was so out of line, and so—”

            “I didn’t come back to Beacon Hills to have a dramatic winter break. I came back to hang out with some people I love. Want to go out and get food? Something tells me your fridge is empty.”

            Derek seems to give in, and he nods. “It’s going to have to be pizza—it’s past midnight, and everything else is closed.”

            “Sure,” Stiles says, getting up from the couch. “I just want to call my dad, quickly. He knows I was coming here, but still.”

            He dials his dad’s cell phone. “ _Stiles, why are you calling me_?”

            “Just wanted to let you know that I’m with Derek,” Stiles says.

            “ _Uh huh_ ,” the Sheriff responds. He yawns. “ _Stiles, I’m not on nights this week._ ”

            “I…oh,” Stiles says. “Sorry, dad. I just didn’t want you to worry.”

            “ _I wasn’t. You said you were going to Derek’s. I’ll see you for lunch tomorrow_ ,” and then his dad adds a quick, “ _Love you, son_.”

            “Love you too.” Stiles hangs up. “Alright, Sourwolf, let’s go get some pizza.”

            It’s good to be home, Stiles thinks. He bumps Derek’s shoulder with his, and gives him a smile. They’ll talk, but later.          

 

♚♞♚♞♚♞

 

            “God, this is good pizza,” Stiles says as they pull back into Derek’s driveway. They hadn’t managed to wait until they’d gotten back home to grab a piece. Neither of them moves to leave the car just yet. Stiles licks his lips and then picks out another piece. “I miss this.”

            “Pizza? I assumed as a college student it would be one of your staples,” Derek comments as he grabs his second piece too.

            Stiles snorts. “It _is_ , but nothing compares to the real thing. Besides, sometimes company makes food taste better.”

            Derek doesn’t comment. He just studies Stiles in that way that he does. It’s oddly comforting. While Stiles finishes his third piece, he asks Derek in between bites, “Think you’ll want to come to my Christmas dinner with me and my dad? I mean, Scott and Melissa are visiting his dad this year—I don’t know. I guess some progress is being made. Erica and Boyd are visiting some of her relatives in Canada for a week. I know your sister’s still with her new pack, and it’s not as if you’ll be spending any time with the Argents. I know you guys are cool and all, but you’re still not going to want to hang around them while they have their family stuff. Lydia’s also going to be visiting Jackson so…”

            “So I’m alone,” Derek comments. “And Peter left to visit Cora.”

            “You’re still here because?” Stiles asks, curiously.

            “Do you think I want to travel for _hours_ with Peter?” Derek asks, finally reaching for the third piece of pizza.

            Stiles snorts. “Touché, Hale. So, what do you say?”

            Derek bites into his pizza and nods slowly. When he’s finished swallowing he says, “I’d like that.”

            Stiles gives him a shy smile and picks up his fourth piece. He _could_ and _would_ out eat a werewolf.

 

♚♞♚♞♚♞

 

            “Dad!” Stiles shouts when he walks into his house a few days later. “I forgot to tell you that Derek’s coming over for dinner on Friday! I’m cooking something healthy, because I know you’ve been cheating on your diet.”

            The Sheriff merely raises his eyebrows at his son. Stiles opens up the fridge door, and grabs the milk carton. He starts pouring some into a glass. “I know you told me you were going over to Derek’s, and you’ve been together the past couple of days. But I thought you two were in a huge fight?”

            Stiles rolls his eyes. “ _Please_ , as if that big fluff wolf could hate me for long.”

            “Stiles, I was under the impression that you were the one who was upset with him,” his dad says, giving him a leveled look.

            “Yeah, I was at first. That was in September. Then I spent the majority of October being depressed that we couldn’t party together and go as Batman and Robin—he would look _awesome_ as Robin—for Hallowe’en. Then November was all about how I missed him, so I threw myself into school. Now I’m back, and I want my friend back.” Stiles sits down at the table with his dad, who puts his newspaper down. “I just want to be _home_. Home doesn’t exist without Derek, you know that.”

            “I wish I didn’t,” the Sheriff mutters. But then he smiles lightly at his son. “He’s a good guy. Maybe a bit too old for you, but he’s a good guy. Why don’t you ask him about how he checks in with me every week?”

            Stiles’ head snaps up at that. “He does?”

            “Yeah. He claims he’s just making sure nothing supernatural has come into town, but he also brings me a veggie burger on our weekly Friday meetings. He asks about you, son. So I’m glad you’re going easy on him, but he hurt you, so you have to give him _a little_ hell.” The Sheriff grabs Stiles’ empty glass and brings it to the sink. “I get the feeling that the instant forgiveness is going to bother Derek.”

            “Oh,” Stiles says. It’s all he knows how to say right now. He’s processing his dad’s words, and goes to ask his dad something, only to realize he’s alone in the kitchen. He couldn’t tell a soul how long he’d been sitting there.

            Derek brings his dad veggie burgers because he knows that Stiles used to. Stiles goes to his room, and opens his bedroom window. He’s quiet for a minute, before he finds himself whispering, “Thanks, Derek. For taking care of my dad while I was gone.”

            He almost waits to see if Derek would come climbing up the side of his house, but decides to crawl into bed instead. As he curls up, he wonders if his dad’s onto something.

            Derek’s going to feel guilty for years if Stiles doesn’t give him a chance to feel as if he’s earned the forgiveness. Stiles didn’t want to talk about their fight though, doesn’t want to remember how hurt he’d been, or the last words he’d said to Derek when he left.

            “ _If I leave, I’m not coming back for you ever. If you don’t stop me, I’ll be dead to you like the rest of your family._ ”

            Stiles whimpers a little, bringing a pillow up to his face. He buries it into the material, shame washing over him.

            “ _Derek, stop me, because you’re going to lose me. I’m the last thing you have._ ”

            Only Derek hadn’t stopped Stiles, and he’d managed to get in his Jeep and drive all the way to college. There hadn’t been a text message, a drunken phone call, a sober one, or even some scribbled note. Not a word had been said between them, until Derek had come home to Stiles passed out on his newly cleaned couch.

            Stiles winces.

            He should’ve handled this better.

 

♚♞♚♞♚♞

 

            “We should talk,” Stiles mumbles.

            Derek looks up from his book. It’s two days before Christmas, and they’d developed a familiar pattern. Stiles would come over, they would talk every so often, but mainly they’d just enjoy each other’s company in silence. Derek would read, and Stiles would play video games on the TV and game console he’d made Derek buy last summer. “Okay.”

            Derek’s putting his book down, and Stiles is turning off his game. “The fight…”

            Only Derek doesn’t interrupt him as he’d expected.

            “The fight,” he starts again, “was awful. It was messy, and it was—”

            “Bad,” Derek interrupts now. “I should’ve never threatened you, shouldn’t have scared you the way I did.”

            Stiles shakes his head. “I was never scared, Derek. You wouldn’t hurt me.”

            “But I did,” Derek whispers.

            “Not physically,” Stiles responds. He shrugs. “I get it. You didn’t want me coming home to visit on weekends. I mean, when you think about it…that’s a dumb reason to fight.”

            “It is,” Derek agrees. “I just wanted you to have the chance at a _normal_ life, Stiles. I don’t think I ever explained that. I just wanted you to have a break from this shithole, from me and all the danger I’ve brought you in.”

            Stiles snorts. “Normal life? Dude, I had the most _mundane_ life until Scott was bit. Then things were happening. Maybe they weren’t all good, and maybe they were somewhat shitty at times. But the good outweighs the bad.”

            “How?” Derek demands.

            “How? _How_? Dude, my best friend and I have gone through some cool shit. We also stopped being an isolated island. We made _friends_ ; we made a _family_. I have Scott, Lydia, Allison, Kira, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, your sister, and hell, I even have _Jackson_. I had _you_. I had you, and then…”

            Derek shifts on the couch to be closer to Stiles, but they still don’t touch. “But Stiles, the Nogitsune—”

            “Brought you back to me,” Stiles says, quietly. “We became _so_ close after that. You were my rock. Someone I could count on.”

            “But you deserved a break from it,” Derek tells him defensively. “You didn’t need to be coming back here every weekend to keep an eye on me or to make sure everyone was okay.”

            “No,” Stiles says. His words are quiet enough that he can see Derek’s wolf senses kick in. “But I wanted to come back because I _wanted_ to see you.”

            Derek’s head jerks back in surprise. He mulls the idea over and then settles with, “I’m sorry, Stiles. I never considered that.”

            Stiles shrugs. “Dude, it was a lost cause. We were both so worked up I don’t think we listened to what the other had to say at all. And what I said when I left…it wasn’t fair of me, and it was the worst thing spoken that day.”

            Derek reaches out, and Stiles notices the way his hand shakes lightly. The touch of his skin on Stiles’ makes his stomach do a little flip. “I wasn’t mad at you. I had driven you away. It was my fault.”

            Stiles gives him a little scoff. “I think it was both of us.”

            “But—”

            “No buts,” Stiles says firmly. He turns his hand over in Derek’s. “It was a stupid fight, and we should’ve had this conversation months ago.”

            “You came back,” Derek murmurs. “You were braver than I was.”

            “I’ll always come back,” Stiles promises. He gives Derek a determined look. “I will _never_ leave you.”

            “I believe you.”

            And then they fall back into silence. At least they’d had the conversation, Stiles thinks idly. He leans into Derek a little more than he used to, and rests his head on his shoulder.

 

♚♞♚♞♚♞

 

            “Thank you for having me,” Derek says politely to Stiles’ father Christmas Eve from his seat on the couch. Stiles had convinced both of them that it would be cruel to wake up alone on Christmas day. It hadn’t taken much convincing—only that the Sheriff requested Derek take the couch.

            “No worries, son. You’re family. But I’m going to bed. Stay out of trouble,” Stiles’ dad says before he leaves the living room.

            Stiles is sitting on the floor, leaning against Derek’s leg. He smiles up to Derek. “I have a present for you.”

            “I thought we weren’t doing presents,” Derek says, frowning.

            “ _Please_. And as if I didn’t spot the gifts in the backseat of your car,” Stiles tells him. He gets up and grabs a bag from underneath the tree. He hands it to Derek, eyeing him carefully. “Will you stop glaring at the present and open it? For me?”

            “Fine,” Derek growls. But Stiles catches it. He sees the hope, the pleasure, and the slight excitement that crosses Derek’s face in a flash. When Derek pulls out his Christmas sweater that Stiles had ordered just for him—a wolf in a Christmas hat, and a little fox in an elf’s outfit sitting beside the wolf—his face lights up just a bit. “Stiles…”

            “I know, it’s cheesy, but I thought it suited us.” Stiles grins. “I got myself a matching one—in red, not green.”

            “The last ugly Christmas sweater I got was from my mom. It was the last Christmas we had…and it’s…” Derek doesn’t say the word _gone_ , or _burned in the fire_ , but Stiles knows. He reaches out and wraps his fingers in Derek’s.

            It’s going to be okay. They’re going to be okay.

            “Thank you,” Derek whispers, his voice catching.

            “I’m glad we’re okay,” Stiles adds carefully.

            “Me too.”

 

♚♞♚♞♚♞

 

            “Derek!” Stiles exclaims. He’d spent the majority of his winter break at Derek’s loft, so it’s almost surprising to see Derek crawling in through his bedroom window. He doesn’t care, he’s happy that Derek wanted to stop by. He’s going back to college tomorrow, and his dad had requested he stay home for the evening.

            Well, the Sheriff’s in bed now, and Stiles had been getting bored.

            “Stiles, I had fun watching the movie with you,” Derek starts saying. “But I don’t want that to be the last time we see each other this time. I wanted to tell you some stuff.”

            “Sure,” Stiles says. He pats the bed beside him, and Derek sits down. “Or you can _lie_ with me like a normal person.”

            “It’s a small bed,” Derek comments.

            “I’m a small dude everywhere except where it counts. Now c’mon.” Stiles pats the bed again. They hadn’t had a real goodbye yesterday, so he’s grateful for the chance to do so. When Derek crawls into the bed with him, Stiles’ heart gets a little erratic. Derek’s eyes widened in surprise, and Stiles says, “Sorry. I’m not used to being this close to your beauty.”

            “My beauty?” Derek snorts while laughing. “What drugs are you on?”

            “The Hale kind,” Stiles murmurs. “What did you want to talk about?”

            Derek looks a little uneasy, all amusement sliding off his face. His voice is low though, and so relaxing. “I need you to know that you scare me. That the idea of losing you scares me. Scott’s a good friend. I don’t think he told you how many nights he had to come pick me up because I was too drunk, trying to forget you.”

            “Derek—”

            “It’s my turn to talk, Stiles. I was trying to forget you, but do you know how much time you spent at the loft over the past couple of years? It’s _impossible_ to forget you. Your scent was…everywhere, on everything. I hadn’t realized how much of _me_ you’d become until suddenly you were gone under the promise you wouldn’t come back.” Derek doesn’t look at Stiles now.

            “That’s why your dirty dishes were piled up,” Stiles comments.

            “It barely worked. Apparently, it would take longer than four months to rid my stuff of your scent. It must have soaked into everything. I’m _glad_ it didn’t work.” Derek looks at him now. “I’m sorry I’m an asshole. I tried so hard to get over you…”

            “Get over me?” Stiles asks. “You mean get over our friendship, right?”

            “No,” Derek answers. “You. It took me four months of misery and thirty seconds of relief after seeing you asleep on my couch again to realize that, I was torn and mad and upset and hurt because at some point...feelings developed. I don’t want you to go back to college and think that part of me doesn’t care about you, that part of me was okay without you. That part doesn’t exist.”

            Stiles is grinning. He leans forward, curling his fingers into Derek’s hand. “That’s probably the best thing you’ve ever said since you learned to talk, Hale.”

            Derek blinks in surprise, but then grins back. “Glad you think so, Stilinski.”

            “You know I go back to college tomorrow, but it’s only an hour away. Think you want to revise your position on me visiting every weekend?” he asks, his heart pounding in his throat.

            “Every other,” Derek compromises. “I’ll visit you on the opposite weekends.”

            “Huh,” Stiles murmurs. “If only we hadn’t figured this out in September.”

            “I think this winter is going to be the best one yet,” Derek comments.

            “Does this mean what I think it means?” Stiles asks. “Because I really, really want it to mean what I think it means.”

            “It means that you, Stiles Stilinski, have me wrapped around your gorgeous finger, and I am _screwed_.”

            Stiles laughs. He buries his face close to Derek’s. “I think you had me at first scowl.”

            Derek snorts. “I _like_ you, Stiles.”

            “I _like_ you, Derek. What a shocker.” Stiles feels Derek’s lips brush against his lightly. They’re gone as quickly as they arrived. “This _is_ going to be a good winter, Hale.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I can tell you straight up that this isn't my best.
> 
> But it's because half-way through, I had a vague idea for tomorrow's story. Then I got thinking about that, and working that out in my mind, that I didn't give this one enough attention. So I apologize for that.
> 
> Stick around for tomorrow's story anyway? I'm going to aim for major fluff.


End file.
